Nobody's Trying To Be My Baby
by BeatlesElfObsession
Summary: Even at the height of Beatlemania, nobody seems to care about poor Ringo. When he gets in an accident, and none of the fans seem to notice, the Beatles decide that something must be done.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so here's a new story (Beatles again, of course :)! By the way, I most certainly do NOT hate Ringo! I love him, he's one of my favorites, so this story is not to bash him. Instead, it is to bash all the people who say that Ringo was not an important part of the Beatles. As always, please review! Constructive criticism, and support, are much appreciated =)**

Chapter 1

It was spring in 1964. The Beatles were in the studio, and they had just finished recording a song. Paul, John, and George were joking around with the equipment. But Ringo sat in the corner, his usual sweet smile replaced with a gloomy look.

George was the first to notice him. He walked over and sat down beside him.

"Hey, Ringo! What's the problem?"

Ringo rested his chin in his hands and said nothing. By now John and Paul had become aware of what was going on in the corner,, and they walked over too.

"Come on, buddy, you can tell us! What's wrong?" asked John, kneeling next to the depressed drummer.

Ringo looked up. "Well, if you must know…nobody likes me!" he answered.

"What are you talking about?" cried Paul in astonishment.

"Been reading those cheap excuses for newspapers again?" asked John, "You gotta learn to pay no attention to those! They're made for idiots who haven't enough brain to understand real news."

"No! It's not the tabloids that are bothering me!" replied Ringo, "It's the truth that no one likes me! They make fun of everything from my height to my nose! And everybody hates my singing. They all want Pete Best back, and they make it quite obvious! And that's only if they even notice me! People are always forgetting about the drummer in the back of the stage!"

"Nonsense!" said George, "You're the best drummer in the world! You have every bit as many fans as the rest of us!"

"Yeah!" chimed in Paul, "Those people that poke fun at you are just jealous of your good looks!"

Ringo looked doubtful. Just then, the mail was brought in.

"Perfect!" crooned John, "Some fan mail ought to cheer you up!"

They dug into the huge bag of mail and began sorting the letters.

"One for Ringo, one for Paul, one for George, one for me…" said John,

"One for Ringo, one for Paul, one for George, and one for me. Uuuh…one for…hmm…wait…"

John dug deep into the bag. His search became more frantic.

"Hm…well…all of Ringo's must be at the bottom…" he conjectured weakly.

"Yeah!" continued Paul, "They were probably sent first!"

Ringo's face fell more with each letter added to the others' piles. By the time the mail bag was empty, John's, Paul's, and George's piles were spilling of the desk, while Ringo's held only six letters. Ringo looked like he might cry.

"Like I said, everybody hates me." he said, hanging his head and trudging out of the room. The other three watched him leave, and then turned to each other.

"Oh, poor chap!" said George.

"No wonder he feels bad!" agreed Paul.

"Our fans must be bloomin' idiots! Don't they realize what a marvelous fellow Ringo is?"

"What are we going to do?" asked George, "We can't let him go on feeling like that!"

The three Beatles looked at each other forlornly. They all felt terrible for their friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, everyone! I figured this story needed an update, it's been a while. Thanks for the reviews! Shortyblackwell1 Don't worry I love Ringo, too! I'll take good care of him! As always, reviews would be appreciated. Thanks very much!**

Chapter 2

An hour later, the three popular Beatles were still at the recording studio. All of them were getting worried about Ringo, especially George.

"But wouldn't he be back by now?" he asked anxiously, looking out the window again.

"Maybe he went home," said Paul, glancing out the door into the hallway, "That may do him some good."

"Yeah, he needs a break," agreed John, "But I'm sure he's just fine. There's nothing to worry about, really."

George plunked down onto a chair and picked up his guitar, strumming it subconsciously.

"I guess you're right. Worrying won't help anything."

Paul sat down on the floor, humming while scribbling in his notebook. He had been working for a while on this song, which he just couldn't seem to get right.

"'Ey, John," he asked, ceasing his humming, and picking up a random guitar "which sounds better here: this (he played a chord), or this (another chord)?"

John motioned for Paul to continue playing the guitar, and he sang along the part of the song he knew, up until the part in question.

"The second one, for sure," he finally replied.

Paul smiled and nodded; scrawling something in his notebook, then continued strumming the guitar. George joined in. For a little while, thing were peaceful again in the studio.

Then, suddenly, the telephone rang, startling all of them. Paul fumbled with the handset for a second, and then answered it.

"Hello?" he said cheerily into the headset, "Yes, that's right."

Abruptly, the cheery look disappeared from his face.

"W-What?" he stammered, his expression becoming more and more distressed, "Just now? He…yeah, he was here. But he left, and…"

John and George looked up in concern.

Um, yes…" Paul continued into the phone, "But…you're not joking?"

By the look on his face, it definitely wasn't a joke.

"Well, how serious is it? What do you mean you 'can't disclose that information over the phone'?!" Y-yeah…yes! We _are _his family! Just…we'll be right there! G'bye!"

Paul turned to his friends, looking a little pale. He didn't say anything, just headed for the door, signaling them to follow. George and John exchanged worried glances, then jumped up and quickly followed Paul.

Paul didn't say anything until they were all positioned in a cab. He then turned to the other two.

"It's Ringo…" he began. John and George had already figured that.

"He, um…the hospital called. They said the poor bloke got hit by a car."

John looked startled. George let out a whimpering sigh.

"They wouldn't say how serious it was over the phone. But I can't help…" Paul trailed off and bit his lip. His overactive imagination was kicking in again.

John patted Paul on the shoulder.

"It's alright, mate. I'm sure he's fine," he said, sounding much more sure of himself than he felt. His encouragement was just as much for himself as for his friends.

Although the hospital was fairly near the studio, the cab ride felt excruciatingly long to the three worried Beatles inside. They wasted no time in clambering out of the cab when they finally pulled up to the hospital. They rushed in through the front door and found their manager, Brian Epstein, pacing nervously in the lobby.

"Oh, thank goodness you're here. I insisted that they call you immediately, so-"

"Yeah, yeah," interrupted George, "How's Ringo?!"

"I'm not sure. They won't let anyone but family in to see him, and the doctor still hasn't had time to-" began Brian.

"What room is he in?" interjected Paul.

Brian pointed to a room at the end of a nearby corridor. Before he even had time to point out the visitor rules again, the other three were off. They hastened down the hallway, halting uneasily in front of the aforementioned door. Then they turned the handle gingerly, swinging the door cautiously open.

Within the room stood a bed, and on the bed lay their injured band mate. His left leg was in a cast, dangling above his body like a marionette puppet. His left arm rested at an unnatural angle. His forehead was bound tightly with a white bandage. His face had several minor scratches and bruises on it. His eyes were drawn shut in a grimace of pain. But when the other three entered, Ringo opened his eyes and looked round.

"You're out of luck," he said, half smiling at his friends, "It'll take more than a ruddy car to get rid of me."

John, George, and Paul grinned in relief. If their friend could still joke, he must be all right. George, unable to contain his glee at seeing Ringo alive, raced over to him and hugged him gently, doing his best not to hurt him. John and Paul looked at each other, smiled, and then followed suit. Ringo beamed brightly (well, as brightly as he could since half his face was basically immobile).

"Alright, alright. Get off of me, you queers!" he teased.

The others reluctantly released him and sat on various pieces of furniture near the bed.

"Now then, what happened to you?" inquired John, "Didn't your mammy ever teach you to look both ways before crossing the street?"

Ringo snapped the fingers on his good arm.

"Oh, darn! I knew I was forgetting something!" he said, assuming an exaggerated mournful look, "I only looked one way. Oh, mammy would be disappointed."

"You were probably just lost in thought, eh?" asked George.

"Ehm…yeah, I guess," replied Ringo, looking serious for a split second.

"Well, how are you feeling now?" questioned Paul.

Ringo looked down at his twisted arm and limp leg.

"Er…mind if I get back to you on that one?"

"Well, then how's the hospital been for you?" Paul tried again.

"Oh, it's the gear!" answered Ringo, mocking an enthusiastic expression, "They give you a room of your own, and even check on you once in a while! Speaking of which, if the doctors find you in here, they won't be happy. You'd best leave now and come back at visiting hours."

"Since when've we ever paid attention to the rules?" scoffed John.

George looked hesitant.

"You sure they're treating you alright? You'll be okay if we leave?"

"Oh, sure. I'll be fine!" Ringo reassured him, "Visiting hours are coming up and, believe me, it'll be worse if you stay and get caught."

"Come on, then," laughed Paul, standing up, "The bloke obviously doesn't want our company. Let's give him some space."

The other two stood up as well, wishing Ringo luck and promising to be back in as soon as they could. Then they diffidently exited the room and made their way inconspicuously to the lobby.


	3. Chapter 3

**Another update! hehe =)**

Chapter 3

Sitting restlessly in the hospital lobby, John, George, and Paul watched several doctors and nurses going in and out of Ringo's room. As they waited, they discussed the issue of their drummer's popularity.

"Maybe we don't give him enough time in the spotlight," speculated George.

"It's true that he is always the one in the back of the stage," Paul stated.

"Well, we've tried to get him into the center of attention, but he won't do it! No drum solos, no dancing...even though he's good at them!" said John.

"But we've got to do something!" continued Paul, "Six letters- honestly!"

All three fell silent, contemplating to themselves. Soon, though, they were jostled out of their own thoughts by a doctor approaching them.

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Starkey's relatives?"

"Yes," replied John, without hesitation.

"Aha." said the doctor looking a little skeptical, but continuing, "I'll need this form to be filled out, then. And these ones, too."

Paul took the documents and began looking them over.

"How's he doing?" asked George.

"Mr. Starkey? Oh, he'll be just fine, eventually. His left shoulder was dislocated, and his left leg sustained a rather serious sprain. Aside from those, he's got several scrapes and bruises. He will need to stay here in the hospital for a couple of weeks at least. He tells me he's a drummer, too, and I must say, he won't be drumming for longer than a couple of weeks," answered the doctor.

He peered at the three Beatles incredulously.

"You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?"

John looked up at him with a deadpan expression.

"Why, no! I don't believe we've ever met sir."

Paul looked over at George, biting his lip, and thus successfully conveying the sentiment that he hoped the doctor wouldn't recognize them. None of them wanted to deal with any fans or admirers right now. George raised his eyebrows in agreement, and then bent back over the form that Paul had handed him to fill out.

The doctor gave them one last suspicious glance-over, then started to walk away.

""Ey, wait, mister!" called John.

The doctor turned around.

"When can we go in and see him?"

"Visiting hours start in-" the medic glanced at his watch, "-twenty five minutes. A nurse will guide you in."

The trio looked at each other. Paul graciously handed John another of the documents to be filled out.

"I'm glad the doctor can't figure out why he recognizes us," said Paul, voicing all of their feelings.

"I'm glad we know so much about Ringo," said George, setting aside a finished form.

At that moment, they saw Brian returning from an expedition to the washroom.

"Any news? Yeah? What are these?" he asked, snatching one of the forms they were filling out.

"They're girl scout cookie order forms," replied John, seriously.

Brian glared at him and pulled out a pen to assist in filling them in. George was kind enough to retell to Brian what the doctor had said. When he said the bit about Ringo not playing drums for several weeks, their manager let out a pained whimper.

"Weeks? _Weeks_? We can't wait weeks! Concerts! We've got concerts, and the album. Oh! The album will never-"

"Shut up!" John hollered blatantly, "We don't _care _about the bloomin' concerts, Ep! We're worried about our friend! Would you just give it a rest?!"

Brian sat in stunned silence. Of course, he should have been used to this. John never did have any respect for authority.

A nurse approached and they all looked up expectantly.

"Excuse me…but aren't you the Beatles?"

John sighed. Paul rolled his eyes. George lowered his chin into his hands. Brian answered for them.

"Yes, they are indeed."

"Would you mind signing this for me?" gushed the nurse, holding out a piece of paper.

All three signed it grudgingly and handed it back to her.

"Oh! Thank you _so _much!" she squealed, scurrying away down a hall.

They all stared after her.

"I don't believe it…" said George.

"You really ought to be used to it by now, fellows," chided Brian.

"No, not that she wanted the autograph!" Paul jumped in, "She didn't even notice Ringo wasn't here!"

"Didn't say a thing about it!" John chimed in.

All three looked at each other in disgust. This was deplorable ignorance. Just then, another nurse walked towards them. They warily watched her approach, hoping it wasn't what they were expecting.

"Pardon me, sirs," she stated, "You may come and visit Mr. Starkey now."


End file.
